


Running off the Road

by coraxes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Definitely other characters/side ships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Season/Series 05, Time Loop, because time loop, bi!Buffy, plus past relationships, rating/warnings may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: It was supposed to end when Buffy jumped off the tower.  She was supposed to sacrifice herself for her sister, save the world, and close the portal.  Instead she wakes up--in her sixteen-year-old body, just after the Master kills her.  After over twenty loops, Buffy's no closer to discovering why this is happening or how she can stop it.And then, on the first night of a new loop, she gets a call and discovers she might not be as alone as she thought.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Partial inspiration for this fic goes to the Mass Effect fanfic, "Variations on a Theme, with Tank and Gunfire." Mostly the time loop part. This fic has nothing to do with Mass Effect. 
> 
> I'm pantsing this, so...wish me luck.
> 
> CW for mentions of attempted suicide/mentions of Angelus doing his thing, but nothing explicit.

I sputter back to life and vomit water onto the cold stone floor.  I’m soaked; the Master’s bite burns at my throat; my body aches from, well, _dying._ Tomorrow, my sternum will be bruised from Xander’s chest compressions.  But I’m alive.  Again.

Finally I straighten up and look around the cave, to Xander’s worried eyes and then Angel’s.  And then I speak, throat still sore from coughing up the lake. 

“Oh, no.  Not _again._ God _damn_ it.”

Maybe I should back up.

* * *

The first time I jumped through that portal after Glory, I expected to die.  Welcomed it, even.  Spike had been right, after all; my death wish had come.  I couldn’t stand to live in a world where the only choices were kill my little sister or let Hell swallow us all alive.  But I didn’t die.  I woke up in the Master’s lair, shivering and wet and thinking--hoping, really--that the extra four years of memories crammed into my brain were just a dream.

I know, right?  I was still naïve then, just a little.

I killed the Master that night.  And I did something stupid, in part in celebration, in part to prove to myself that it really _was_ all a dream.  I slept with Angel.

He killed me three months later.  I let him.  After all, he’d taken everything else from me by then.

And then I woke up, again, in the Master’s lair.

It took a few more cycles to get as far as that last battle with Glory.  I wasted time, first too wrecked from Angelus’s torture to trust Angel, and then pushing my friends and family away in the hopes that it would keep them safe.  I ran away from Sunnydale once; the mayor ascended a year later.  But finally I made it back to that construction site by repeating all the choices I’d made the first time.  And just like the first time, I jumped, and I died.

It took a few more cycles before I realized I couldn’t get any further than that.  No matter what happened, one way or another, I always died battling Glory unless something else got me earlier.  So I made different choices earlier, from the important to the insignificant, hoping one of those would be what finally let me move on.  I killed Angel as soon as I woke up, or broke up with him first.  I killed Ben.  Saved Jenny Calendar, my mom, Harmony Friggin’ Kendall.  I saved Kendra, or kept Faith from becoming a murderer.  Didn’t break up with Riley, or never dated him in the first place.  Told Willow I knew she was gay and I was happy for her and Tara, told Xander he’d always be my friend even if he didn’t go to college.  Staked Spike or kept him from being chipped or gave him that crumb of hope.  Choices and choices and choices, and I died and died and jumped and died, and came back to do it all over again.

So when I woke up in that cave, _again,_ after a loop where _everyone_ had lived--a loop I thought I’d done all _right_ \--I was pissed.

And maybe about a hundred years old.

It all blurred together, after a while.

* * *

Xander looks at me, eyes wide.  “Uh, Buffy?  Are you okay?”

I can’t blame him for his confusion, I remind myself, or his concern.  After all, he just saw the girl he has a crush on die.  I shouldn’t take my frustration out on _him._

But the last time went so well.  I had hoped…

It doesn’t matter now.

“I’m okay,” I say, and stand, batting away the hands he offers to help.  I’m steady--steadier than I should be, after drowning.  Gotta love that Slayer healing.  Somewhere out there, Kendra is getting to experience it for the first time.  “Thanks, Xander.  You, too.”  I nod at Angel.  “I need to go fight the Master.”

“Buffy,” Angel protests.

“Are you _crazy_?” snaps Xander.  “You just came back to life!  You’re still weak!”

I take a deep breath, remind myself this Xander is just sixteen and also just saved my life.  “No, I’m not,” I tell him.  “And I’ve got a master vamp to stop, so…”  I start walking, ignoring the slosh of water in my fancy shoes.  Xander and Angel hang back, staring, and I gesture at them.  “You guys coming?”

* * *

I kill the Master, of course, and pulverize his bones with one of Giles’s heavy stone bookends.  For all the doom and gloom he’s caused, he’s never killed me.  Well, never killed me _permanently._ For such an old vamp, he really is a pushover in comparison to some of the other threats I’ve faced.  But when the others start to celebrate and talk about going to the Bronze, I hang back. 

“But Buffy,” Willow protests, pouting a little, “you just saved the _world._ You should get to have fun!”

Forcing a smile, I say, “And I will, Will.  Just…not tonight.  I’m kinda beat, what with the dying and all.”

She looks guilty, and for a second I feel guilty too for using my own death to manipulate her like that.  But I push it away.  I’ve already done some pretty heinous lying and manipulation. Not to this Willow, not yet, but I probably will before this cycle is out.  “Okay, good point.”  She bites her lip, then darts over and hugs me with her thin nerdy arms.

I knew this was coming and still sort of want to start crying anyway.  “Thanks, Will,” I murmur, and hug her back.  “I’ll go out next weekend, okay?  Tonight I just want to get some rest.”

Angel offers to walk me back home, but I turn him down.  I’ll end things with him tomorrow, and I don’t like spending time alone with him, not since the whole “torturing me to death” thing.  Giles drives me back to my house instead, and I fend off confused questions from my mom about my dress (“The sprinkler system went off”), the dust all over me (“because there was an explosion in the library.”), and the puncture wounds in my neck (“Did I mention the explosion?  Lots of debris.”)

In any town but Sunnydale, my explanation would probably merit more than five minutes of concern.  I think Mom must have gotten used to the constant life-endangering scenarios or something.  But after she confirms the details and fusses over me for a minute, she lets me go.  I trek up the stairs, movements mechanical.  Take a hot shower, wash the Hellmouth’s dust and the Master’s lair off of me.  Brush my tangled hair.  Change into my comfiest pajamas.

Then I get in bed and allow myself to do the one thing I only do tonight, the first night of a new cycle:  I wallow.  I hug my pillow to my chest and cry and remember moments from the last cycle.  Things I’ll never get to see again, at least not for the first time: Kendra bickering with Faith on our first patrol together, all three of us.  Mom sitting me down and telling me very gently that if I was interested in Faith it was _alright,_ she still loved me _,_ not realizing that ship had sailed about seventy years ago by my time.  A new false memory, given by the monks, of me teaching my little sister to ice skate on her chubby toddler legs.

I take those memories, and I file them away in a spot in my brain I save for the good things.  The spot filled with bad things is much bigger and much more useful, but the good ones are important too.

There were cycles where I killed myself, knowing I’d come back, hoping I wouldn’t.  I don’t want to feel like that again.

Finally I stop crying.  That cycle is over, and I have a new life to go through, another chance to figure it out.  I roll over onto my back and close my eyes, letting the day’s exhaustion wash over me.

Downstairs, the phone rings.

Ugh.  I pull the pillow down over my face, flattening it against my ears, and the phone rings again.

I hear Mom answer the phone.  Her tone is familiar, even though I can’t make out the words.  Then, “Buffy?” she calls up the stairs.  “Someone’s on the phone for you.” 

Frowning, I sit up.  I really just want to sleep--and I definitely don’t want Mom to notice I’ve been crying.  But I go back down stairs anyway, wiping my eyes and hoping Mom chalks up my puffy eyes to sleepiness if she notices them at all.  “It’s a man,” says Mom quietly, covering the receiver.  “He says it’s about the explosion at school.”

Who would call in the middle of the night about the school?  No one in Sunnydale really seems to care about disasters like that, unless you count caring about covering them up.  And who would call that my mom wouldn’t recognize?  Still, I take the phone from her.

“Don’t stay up too late on that,” she warns, and goes back to her bedroom.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Slayer,” says the voice on the other end of the line, low and rough and _familiar._   “Listen, you don’t know me--”

“ _Spike_?”  But what the hell is _he_ doing, calling me?  How would he even have my number now?  I shouldn’t be a blip on Spike’s radar for another few months, at least. 

Unless…

“Buffy,” he breathes, and then laughs. “Bloody hell, it’s actually _you_?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say.  But it _sounds_ like him--the first Spike.  And that should be impossible right now, unless he’s going through the same thing I am.

It’s impossible, and insane, and a lot of other i-words that mean it shouldn’t be able to happen.  Because why _Spike_ of all people?  Out of everyone I know and work with and care about, why would it be him that would find me in these loops?  And why is it _now_?  So that’s why I ask him, just to be sure, “What was it you promised before we went to fight Glory?”

“That I’d protect Dawn until the end of the world,” he says immediately.  “Mucked that one up right and proper, didn’t I?”

Well, yeah, but since I keep letting my little sister get kidnapped and used in a blood ritual, I decide to let it go.  “What are you _doing_?  Why were you calling me?”

“Thought I’d warn you about Angel, yeah?” he says.  “Guess I don’t have to.”

I shake my head before I realize he can’t see me.  “Listen,” I say, “I don’t know why you’re with me, but this…this has to be a sign, right?  Come down to Sunnydale.  As soon as you can.”

“Not your bloody dog,” Spike mutters, but after a moment he adds, “but if it’ll get us out of this mess, we should work together, I reckon.”

The dog comment reminds me, though.  Spike doesn’t have a chip.  There’s not even an Initiative around to give it to him.

I grit my teeth.  In other timelines, he’d been out there murdering people right around now anyway.  At least if he tries that here, I can keep him in line.  And I’ve dusted Spike enough times at this point that I know I can manage if necessary.  (He’s killed me twice.  I’m winning.)  Plus he’s got to still be with Drusilla right now.  “Okay.  But if you or your hobag girlfriend lay a fang on anyone in this town…”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line, and then he barks out a laugh.  It’s not a happy sound.  “Yeah, yeah.  See you in a tick, Slayer.”

The line goes dead with a _click_ and I pull back to stare at the phone.

Did that actually just happen?

After so many cycles I can’t even keep track, I’m not alone anymore.  And now my only real ally is a soulless vampire that thinks he’s in love with me. 

Suddenly I’m not tired at all.  Or, my body is--dragging myself back up the stairs is torture--but my mind isn’t.  So instead of sleeping, I stare up at the ceiling and wonder what I can change--what _we_ can change--this time.


	2. Chapter Two

It takes a few days for Spike to get from wherever he is (“Prague,” he tells me in his second phone call) to Sunnydale.  So, while he’s travelling, I start planning.  It’s what I always do these first few days--sit down, figure out what’s happening and what I can change.  Not my usual problem-solving approach, but it’s not like I can stake a time loop. 

I won’t have Angel drama this year, which is definitely of the good, but Spike and Drusilla have always shown up to cause some trouble.  Without them--or at least without Spike--everything will be pretty quiet.  Well, there’s the Bride of Nerdenstein and the mind-control eggs and Ford and everything, but at least we should be able to avoid an almost-apocalypse.

Maybe I shouldn’t jinx it.

 Anyway--planning.  And preparing.  I end things with Angel--he’s upset, of course, but when I tell him I want to live a normal life then he comes over all broody and guilty and leaves it alone.  I take out monsters that are already in place, like the giant egg mama under the school and the reptile dick metaphor under the frat house. 

When Spike finally gets to Sunnydale, he finds me on patrol in Shady Hill.  The DeSoto pulls up just outside the fence, grinding ruts into the soil, and bright paint streaks the bumper.  He steps out, flicks a cigarette butt into the dirt, and just…looks at me.

I don’t know what to do when he looks at me like that.  Like he actually cares about me.  My skin prickles and I have to look away; I kind of want to punch him, not because I want to hurt him but because I want him to _stop._ Monsters shouldn’t be able to look at you like that. 

“Keeping up tradition, huh?” I say.  It’s lame but I’ve got to say _something,_ and I’m out of practice with conversations I don’t know are coming.

“What?”  Even Spike seems surprised by my bad opener.  I point at the bumper.  “Oh, yeah.  Never know, Slayer.  If I leave that ‘Welcome to Sunnyhell’ sign standing we might have another apocalypse on our hands.”

I grin and then he’s looking at me like _that_ again, eyes soft, head tilted.  “Spike.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop making eyes at me before I punch you in the nose.”

He chuckles and prowls forward.  “Why?  ‘M I _bothering_ you, Slayer?”  Great, now he’s trying to be all flirty and seductive.  But at least it’s not that look anymore.  He stops way too into my personal space.  If he was any taller, he’d be looming. 

“You’re _always_ bothering me,” I tell him, matter-of-fact.  But that’s not really true.   As much as he loves to make me feel off my guard, as weird as it is to have a soulless demon say he’s in love with me--I’m glad he’s here.  I’m glad this is _my_ Spike, the Spike who chained me up in a crypt and also got tortured to protect me and my sister.

I _missed_ this Spike. 

And before I can think about it, before I really know what I’m doing, I grab his duster and pull myself up, pressing my lips against one of his razor-sharp cheekbones.  He turns so fast that our foreheads nearly knock together and I’m left staring at him, hands still clutching the leather of his coat. 

I let go of his coat and push him away.  “I meant it about the no-biting rule,” I tell him.  I know I can trust him without the chip to a point.  There have been loops where he never got it, or got it taken out early, and started bagging his blood for me.  There have also been loops where he started killing people again and I had to dust him.  But my Spike thinks he’s in love with me already, and I can trust that, I think.

I’ve got to stop thinking of him as _my Spike._  What the hell, Buffy-brain?

He growls and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.  “You sure know how to jerk a bloke around, Slayer.”  He lights up, scowling at the flame like it’s just insulted his mother.  “So.  This _Groundhog Day_ business-- _Groundhog Years_ , I s’pose.  What do you know about it?”

“Not much.”  I scowl and ignore the urge to ask for a cigarette.  I started smoking with Faith several loops ago.  The nicotine addiction was gone when I died and I never started again, but sometimes I still miss it.  “I’ve been around the block twenty-ish times--”

“ _Twenty_?” Spike blurts out.

“Yeah.  Haven’t you?”

“Nah, this is my…fourth, not counting the original.”  He flicks ash to the side and leans back against the wrought iron fence.  “Suppose that makes sense.  It said you weren’t goin’ along…”

“What with the _huh_ now?” I ask.  “Spike, do you know something about this?”

“Not much.  After I got off the phone with you that first night, somethin’ used Dru to talk to me.”

My eyes narrow.  “What do you mean?  And why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

He shrugs.  “Seemed like an in-person kind of conversation.  Didn’t exactly have time to stand in a phone booth and yammer on.  Anyway--I got off the phone and Drusilla looked wrong.  Something was possessing her.  It didn’t tell me much of anything, just said it was trying to get you to make a choice but you weren’t going along with it.  Said that now I’d been through life without you a few times, I would help you make the right one.”

Okay, what the hell?  How was _Spike_ ever supposed to help me make good choices?  “How do you know it wasn’t your crazy girlfriend being, you know, _crazy_?”

He looks at me with his brow raised, the you’re-a-bloody-idiot-Summers look.  And the punching urge is back.  “I spent a hundred years with Drusilla.  Know what she looks like when she’s seeing things.  _This_ wasn’t her.  She about lost it when it left; doesn’t like her head being meddled with.”  He takes a long drag off his cigarette.  “And I dunno if it’s good news, either.  Wouldn’t tell me what it was or anything.”

“Fuck,” I say, with feeling, and he chuckles.  “What?”

“Sounds funny comin’ out of that pretty mouth of yours,” he says.

“One: Ew.  Two:  I’m like a hundred years old, Spike.  I’m allowed to swear.”  I roll my eyes.  “So, something is making us loop because I’m not making the right choice.  Probably a choice during the battle with Glory.”

“Why d’you think that?”

“That’s as late as I can get,” I explain.  “No matter what I pick before, I always die during that battle.”

Spike nods.  Something flashes in his eyes, and he looks over my shoulder, eyes unfocused.  “Yeah, makes sense.  First time everything went back was a few months after you jumped.  And you’ve always died in mine, too, when I get that far along.”  He drops the spent end of his cigarette and grinds it under his boot.  “Best bloody day of my life, waking up that first time and realizing the world still had you in it.”

I freeze.  “Spike…”

“What?” He raises an eyebrow.

I should be used to dealing with bleachy vampires who love me, but my--the _original_ Spike has me tongue-tied.  “Don’t, okay?  Just don’t.  We’ve got too much going on for this.  We need to--to talk to Giles and everyone else.  Get started on the research.”  I’d told everyone about the time loop stuff before, but after several loops turned up nothing useful I went back to the try-to-fix-everything plan.  Maybe with Spike’s information, they’d be able to narrow it down.  “Ugh, Angel, too.  I don’t want you guys staking each other.”

“Right.  Angel.”  His eyes narrow; uh-oh.  Jealousy is _just_ what the doctor ordered right now.  “How much should I worry ‘bout your boyfriend losing his soul this go-round?”

My fist flies out and hits him right in the nose.  I hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage and a growl and then Spike’s lashing out at me.  His fist drives the air out of my lungs.  I catch his arm when he goes for the next blow and flip him over me, onto the ground, then plant my boot on his chest.

His nose is bleeding as he glares.  I’ve seen that Spike look before, angry and turned on at once.  Instead of going for another blow he just looks up at me.  “How many times have you killed me?”

“Five.”

“How many times have I done you in?”

“Twice.”  I expect him to be disappointed at the answer, but instead he grins up at me.

“That’s my--”

“I’m _not_ ,” I say, digging my boot into his chest until he grunts, “your _girl._ ”  But I let him get up, anyway.  And when he licks up his own nose blood, I make a face and definitely don’t pay attention to that flicky tongue thing he does.  “Angelus only managed once.  He’s not-- _we’re_ not--but that is _so_ none of your business.”

“Right, then.”  He dusts off his coat, looking smug for God only knows what reason.  “We off to see the watcher?”

“The wonderful watcher of me,” I agree.

“He is, he is--” Spike begins, singsong, and frowns.  “Doesn’t really work with the rest.”

 _You sure know how to jerk a girl around, vampire._  I shake the thought out of my head.  “Come on, Spike, while the night’s still young.”

* * *

I call Giles from the library.  It’s not breaking and entering if he gave me a copy of his key, right?  And I don’t feel like explaining that he has to invite Spike into his house.  He’s there in a few minutes, wearing a rumpled suit.  Does he sleep in those things.

“Buffy, what--” he begins, and then takes in the smoking vampire next to me.  “Who are you?  Put that out.”

“Evil,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, yeah.  Smoke damage, so evil.  If you’re a complete nerd.”  I narrow my eyes at him.  “ _William_.”

“How did you--” He huffs like he isn’t sure whether to be happy or angry.  “Dirty pool, Slayer.”

But he stubs the cigarette out.  On the library table, looking Giles straight in the eye as he grinds a burn mark into the smooth wood. 

“Buffy, who is this?” Giles says.  Glasses-polishing is eminent, I can tell, so I shove the mug of tea I made at him.

“You might want to sit.”

“I’m _quite_ \--”

“ _Sit,_ Giles.”

He does.  Sometimes being mentally older than your watcher is kind of fun. 

“This is Spike.”  Giles frowns like something is niggling at him.  “William the Bloody--”

“…Slayer of Slayers,” Giles finishes, eyes going wide as he takes in the vampire sitting next to me, his big ugly boots propped on the table. 

“How d’you do, Rupes?” asks Spike.

He looks at Spike, and then me, clearly not freaking out.  “Am I to understand you also have a soul, then?”

“ _Hell_ , no.”

“It’s time travel,” I say, interrupting before anyone can get more angry/confused.  “Me and Spike have been going through these loops.  We started…working…together in the first one, but Spike has some new information…”

It takes a while to convince Giles that we’re actually doing the time-loopy thing, but calling him Ripper and describing what happens (happened?  I’ve never figured out the tenses) with Ethan and the Mark of Eyghon is enough to get him to believe us.  After that, telling him everything we actually know doesn’t take long.  What I’ve been through could probably fill a few books, but what Spike and I actually _know_ couldn’t make a pamphlet.

Finally, though, Giles runs out of questions and promises to start researching.  “I assume you’ll want to tell everyone else about this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

I’d love to stop telling people about things and just get on with the slayage, but that’s going to take a while.  “Sure,” I say.  “Scooby meeting tomorrow, bright and early.  And I should probably tell Mom, too…”

“You’re letting Joyce in on it?” Spike asks, surprised.  “Seem to remember she didn’t take it too well last time.  Er, the first time, that is.”

I shrug.  She normally doesn’t, but if I don’t have to run out the door to stop an apocalypse I can usually explain it better.  “I’ll deal.  Spike, do you mind coming over for that?  Flash some fang, drink some cocoa…”

He raises an eyebrow.  “You asking or telling?”

Oh.  I guess I’m not so much with the asking around him.  “Telling.  Politely.  Giles, if it goes bad, can I stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course.”  He frowns.  “What happened when you told her before?” 

I wonder what sixteen-year-old me--the original edition--would think if she knew Giles actually gave a damn about her.   I guess him trying to fight the Master for me sort of gave it away, but, well.  Daddy issues.  “She kicked me out.  She still does a lot of the time--it’s like, a fifty-fifty shot.  Gotta figure out what the magic words are there.”  And now I had to explain magical time loops on top of everything…great.

“No running off to L.A. for a few months, then?” Spike asks.

“How did you know about that?”

He nods toward Giles.  “Told me while I was in his bathtub.  Not like _that_ ,” he adds, at the look on Giles’s face.    

I press my lips together, trying to keep myself from giggling.  Then I glance toward the clock--it’s creeping toward one in the morning.  I nod toward it.  “We should go.  I want to get _some_ sleep tomorrow.”

“Alright.”  Spike gets to his feet, but I hang back.  Giles is going to want some watchery talk, I _know_ it.

Instead of waiting for him to say anything, though, I walk to his side of the table and hug him, careful not to crush his delicate librarian bones.  “Thanks for being so cool about all of this,” I say.  “You’re kind of the best watcher a girl could ask for.”

“I don’t think _cool_ is the right word,” says Giles dryly.  He pats my hair, awkward, like he doesn’t know what to do with hugs.  “I’ve simply surpassed hysteria.”

I let him go and see him making a face, curious but frowny.  “Spit it out, Giles.”

“Spit what out?”

I just look at him until he sighs.  “I admit that I’m somewhat…disturbed.  Buffy, I thought I lost you a few days ago.  We _did_ lose you.  And it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.  To hear you’ve been dying over and over…”

I look at my Giles and wonder what he’d say to the man who told me that sacrificing my sister to save the world might be our only option.  Probably that he was right.  I knew that Giles had a soft spot for me that never really extended to the rest of our group.

Still, it was nice to see that he was still human.  “And I’ve been fine, Giles.”  I glance at the door, where my slayer senses tell me Spike waits just outside.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He follows my look.  “Someday, we’re going to have another chat about your habit of picking up vampiric…associates.”

“Been there, done that,” I say.  “Goodnight, Giles.”

* * *

Spike and I leave the library together. Or, not together. I’m going back home, and Spike’s picking his car up from the parking lot. He’d driven me to the library, but I’m not getting in that monster anymore.

“You’re going back to the Restfield crypt, right?”

He shrugs.  “Seem to recall there’s a big nest there at the mo’.  I can take ‘em later, but for now I think I’ll bunk elsewhere.”

I bite my lip and look away from him, straight ahead.  “Actually, there’s not a nest there anymore.  I took them out the other night.”

“Slayer,” he purrs.  Not looking at him was _definitely_ a good idea.  “You looking out for me?”

“It’s my job, Spike.”  Stupid vampire, misinterpreting everything I do.  My cheeks feel hot.  “Not a housewarming present.”  And it wasn’t like I was lying--a few from the nest had attacked me on patrol.  Once I dusted those, I decided to clear out the rest, where my younger self would have tried to pick them off one-by-one.

Still, Spike’s chuckle makes me feel like he knows something I don’t.

“Shut _up_ ,” I say, and I guess I sound angry enough, because he leaves me alone until our paths split.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! They have really made my day and encouraged me to keep writing this mess of a story. I banged this out in about two hours, so I hope it's okay. This week has been stressful between job-related drama and getting ready for Pride (I helped set up, and I'm going to my first parade tomorrow!), but I wanted to get a chapter out this week anyway.
> 
> A few notes before I get into the story:
> 
> 1) This is my first fanfic with any kind of original plot, and I'm making it up as I go. I didn't figure out the baddie until after I posted the first chapter--but I do know what they are now. While this premise is definitely over-complicated and there will definitely be plot holes, I hope you will bear with me. Criticism is always welcome, but know that I won't be going back to change anything more major than typos or awkward wording.
> 
> 2) This chapter is pretty Spike/Spuffy lite. It does feature Angel, who I don't write much mostly because I don't think he's interesting, but I hope I didn't bash him. I feel like my take on Angel is pretty mild compared to some other interpretations I've seen, but YMMV. Same with my take on Xander--I honestly don't like him very much, but I tried to be fair to his character as well as Buffy's etc. etc. Again: YMMV.

It’s not until I sneak back inside my bedroom window that I realize I forgot to ask Spike where Drusilla is now.  Obviously not with _him_.  Maybe she could have been in the back seat of his DeSoto or something.  But I don’t remember my vamp radar warning me about anyone but Spike.

Huh.

I guess…even after the whole chaining-up-and-offering-to-stake-Drusilla thing, I always expected him to go back to her when he had the chance.  There is a part of me that always thought Spike only bothered to stay in Sunnydale because of his chip.  But that can’t be right, because there have to be demon surgeons or _someone,_ somewhere, who could dig around in Spike’s brain.  Someone more reliable than that Initiative doctor he and Harmony had kidnapped.  But even when Spike hated us, he came to us for help; he didn’t ask Drusilla or try to look up any old contacts.  She had to come to him.

Why?

The same reason I had never managed to stake him that first time around?

Then again, maybe Drusilla just dumped him right away.  She had cheated on him the first time around because he made that truce with me, right?  Or because she knew he would fall for me or something...even with what I had learned about her in the loops, I still didn’t get Drusilla. 

I shake my head and shut the window.  Why am I even _thinking_ about this?

Stupid vampire getting in my stupid head.  Of all the people who I could be stuck in this time loop thingie with, it had to be him.

* * *

In the morning, I cut class to find Angel.  We’re supposed to have the bombshell-dropping Scooby meeting in a couple of hours, and I really, _really_ don’t want to have to break up an Angel-Spike fight.  I might not be able to keep Spike from being his usual provoking asshole self, but if I give Angel some warning it might go over a little easier.

Only downside: since I’m telling Angel about Spike before anyone else, I don’t get to bring company. 

It’s not like I haven’t had time to get over the whole Angelus-killing-everyone-I-love-and-then-me thing.  I should be.  Hell, Spike has killed me more than Angelus, and I don’t have any problem being around _him._ Besides the usual problems Spike presents, anyway.

And for the most part, I am over it.  I don’t think it’s even fear of him anymore.  It hasn’t been for a long time.  It’s just…discomfort.  That squirmy feeling in my stomach when I look at him and know: Angel’s in love with me, and I should feel the same.  I miss us being…not simple, because hello, Slayer-vampire relations are never going to be simple.  But loving him used to be.  Sometimes I miss being the kind of girl who could love someone simply. 

I’m not really supposed to know where Angel lives right now.  It’s the same small apartment where we made love.  I don’t think he ever brought me here when I was sixteen.  Oh, well; he’ll figure it out.

He looks surprised, but pleased, when he opens the door and sees me.  Maybe he thinks I’m here to take back the breakup.  “Buffy?  Come in--what are you doing here?”

If I were really my sixteen-year-old self, I’d…well, I would never have showed up at his apartment because I thought that would make me look like a slut.  But if I _had_ , I would have tried to play it cool, make him think I had just _happened_ to pass by and realize he lived here.  Old-Buffy doesn’t feel like being coy.  “I have some news,” I say as I walk into the small living room and lean on the arm of the couch. 

Angel shuts the door, careful to avoid the sun’s rays; I can see from the living room to his bedroom, the covers still rumpled.  Obviously, I woke him up.  “What’s going on?” he asks.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I think I can handle some bad news,” he says, smiling and reaching out to brush hair from my face.

I duck out of the way, giving him as clear of a no-touchy face as I can manage, and thankfully he gets the idea.  “We’re having a Scooby meeting today.  I need you to be there, but an old friend of yours is going to be joining us and you can’t freak out.” 

Angel frowns.  “Who?”

“William Pratt ring any bells?”  There’s no recognition on Angel’s face.  Huh.  I thought Angelus would have made all the “prat” jokes he could.  I sigh.  “Spike, Angel.  I’m talking about Spike.”

I can practically see the lightbulb go off in Angel’s head.  His eyes widen in horror, and he gets closer to me, looming in a way that I used to think was sexy and protective.  Now it’s just kind of annoying.  “ _Spike_?  The Slayer of Slayers?  Buffy, tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, no jokes.”  I push off the arm of the couch, brushing past Angel as I walk to the fridge and start to fix myself a glass of water.  It gives me something to focus on while I talk that’s not him.  “You can save speech about danger and no soul and blah blah blah.  I know he’s evil.  But we’re working together right now.” 

He stares.  Blinks.  When he talks, his voice is gentler, but I can hear the edge of frustration under it.  “Buffy, I know you’re going through a rough time after the Master--”

I barely contain a snort that would have made the water in my glass shoot up my nose. 

“--but working with Spike, trusting _Spike_ , is a bad idea no matter how it works.”  He blinks again, and then grabs my arm.  “You haven’t seen another vampire with him, have you?  A woman?  She can make people do things, _believe_ things.”

_Men._ Why do they always think they can just grab me?  I grab his wrist and tug his hand off.  “No, Drusilla doesn’t have me under thrall.”  I frown.  “I think she’s still in Prague, actually.  Listen, Angel, I’ll explain everything at the Scooby meeting, okay?  I’ve got the Spike situation under control.  I just need you to not attack him on sight.”

He still looks doubtful, but I really, really don’t have the patience for macho fights today, unless they want to strip beforehand.  I tell him so, minus the stripping part. 

Angel grinds his teeth and says, “Fine.  But if he hurts you, Buffy…”

“…Then I’ll take care of him.”  I doubt I’ve solved all my Angel-Spike issues, but I do trust Angel not to jump Spike as soon as he sees him, at least.  “Thanks.”

* * *

A few hours later, I get to navigate a big talk all over again.  God, I’ll be so relieved when I’m done explaining things and can move on to the staking portion of the program.

I meet Giles in the library first, and the rest of the Scooby gang--Xander, Willow, Ms. Calendar, and Cordelia--trickle in one by one. 

“When is this thing going to start?” Cordelia asks from her seat on top of the counter.  She’s examining her nails; one broke during the whole Master thing, and she can’t stop worrying about the mismatched lengths.  “I have things to do, you know.”

“Yeah?  Who were you planning on doing in the middle of free period?” Xander asks, smirking at Willow, and I kick him under the table. “ _Ow_!  Jeez, Buff.”

Cordelia glances up at me, surprised, and then quickly back down to her nails.  I’m not usually supportive-girl.  But she did crash her car into the school to save the world, so I think that buys her some Buffy defense.

“We’ll start when everyone gets here,” I say in answer to Cordelia’s question.  “Just waiting on two stupid vampires…”

“What was that?” Willow asks.  I’d mumbled the last part. 

As if in answer, two voices start up just off the library, in one of the rooms that connects to the basement and thus to Sunnydale’s extensive sewer system.  “Speak of the demons.”

“Don’t know what you’re playing at--”

“You’re one to talk.  Tell me, you still pulling the cryptic loner bit?”

Angel and Spike walk through the doors, still arguing.  “Angel.  Spike,” I snap.

No response.  They keep bickering, talking over each other.  “Angel!  Spike!  Hey!”

Even Giles looks weirded out.  It’s like there’s nothing outside of their argument.  I can only make out fragments of sentences as their voices get louder, something about the Immortal and “you _know_ you never paid me back for that coat” and something about a submarine?

Finally Xander stands, grabs a big stack of books, and drops them on the table.  The cracking sound they make is loud enough I jump, and, finally, the vampires stop their stupid argument.

“Who says you never learn anything sleeping in class?” Xander says, satisfied.

Huh.  I’ll have to remember that one.

“If you guys are done with the pissing contest, we can get started,” I say.  “Thanks for doing the one thing I asked you not to, Angel.”

“You didn’t tell _him_ not to fight with me!” he protests.

“Like I would ever expect Spike to not be annoying,” I say.

“Evil,” he corrects.

What _ever._   “Spike?  Sit down.  Angel, you can lurk or whatever.  Let’s get started.”

Spike slouches in the chair next to me and props up his boots, just like last night, as we rehash everything we’ve already told Giles.  There’s some freak-outage from Xander and Willow as I explain that Spike is a vampire and _no_ he doesn’t have a soul, and protests from Angel when I explain the time-travel thing.  But after a while everyone just lets us tell our story.  I dish about Angel’s soul escape clause but don’t tell on Ms. Calendar, just mention that a woman from her clan was sent to spy on him.  She can spill those beans herself.  And some stuff--the personal stuff, like Xander and Willow cheating, Spike being in demon-love with me, and Willow’s gayness--I keep to myself.

I brush over most of the loops, only hitting what I think of as the highlight years and the main apocalypses we have to watch out for.  Spike fills in his, plus his conversation with the thing that possessed Drusilla.

Finally we’re all talked out, and everyone is quiet for a while.

“So,” Willow says finally, “this--this is weird.”

“Understatement of the year,” I agree.  “That’s why we need your help.  I don’t feel like doing this another twenty times.”

“Y-yeah, I just…”  She shakes her head.  “That all really happens?  I really get to be a superstrong witch and…”  Willow looks around, blushes.  “Not the point, I guess.”

“No, but it is pretty cool,” I say.  “Between that and your super-smarts, I bet you could beat Giles to finding a way out of this.”

My Watcher frowns.  Poor old guy, having his Watchery skills called into question.  Willow smiles and blushes, looking away from me.   I hope a little competition will do them both good.

But I’m all talked out, and it’s almost time for the next class to start.  As boring as it is going through high school again and again, I still need to do it.  “We need to wrap up.  This summer should be pretty quiet, just your normal vamps around, so we’ve got plenty of time to look into it.  We’ve got this.”

Angel flees out the door, and everyone starts to pack up for class.  Willow and Xander trade whispers and Cordelia loudly tells Ms. Calendar that she doesn’t know why _she_ didn’t get more of a feature in my loops.  Spike snorts with laughter, but I’m the only one paying attention.

“What?” I snap. 

“Over a hundred years of failure and you think they can put this together in a summer?”  He grins at me as he fidgets with his lighter.  He’s been doing it all through the meeting, open and closed, open and closed, the soft flame lighting up his eyes.

Spike’s eyes narrow and he studies me.  “No,” he says, realizing, “you don’t.”

No.  I don’t. 

_I can’t fool myself…or Spike, for some reason._

Stupid perceptive vampire.  “They’ll get it,” I tell him, setting my jaw.  “They’ll have to.”

He snorts again, but drops it.  “I’ll swing by tonight, say hi to Joyce?”

I’d really rather put off telling my mom for forever, but my bags are packed in case of kicking-out and I know I need to get it over with.  “Yeah.  I’ll see you there.”


End file.
